


Burning Breakfast

by Ace_Of_Fleurons



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Again sort of, Breakfast in Bed, F/M, Flash Fic, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Married Life, Slice of Life, Sort Of, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, chris needs to learn how to cook, jill needs to stop keeping a gun near their bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 11:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21098768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Fleurons/pseuds/Ace_Of_Fleurons
Summary: Chris tries making Jill breakfast in bed.Instead, he makes a fire in the kitchen.





	Burning Breakfast

Jill woke up to the smell of something burning.

She bolted upright, sending the sheets flying across the empty space of bed where Chris should have been. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, and a curtain of smoke hung above her head. Her ears began to ring, ever-raw trauma assaulting her senses and shooting panic through her limbs.

Grabbing the handgun that always lay on their bedside table, Jill sprinted through the bedroom door.

A canopy of curse-words flowed along with the smoke that wafted from the kitchen entrance. Still half-dazed from adrenaline, Jill pressed herself close to the walls, crouching underneath pictures of loved ones and family members. She crept towards the opening.

Chris’ voice grew louder and more frantic, the sounds of a struggle rising above his deep growl. Something metal collided with the floor. Jill jumped around the corner with her gun poised. “Don’t move!”

Chris dropped the pan he was lifting back onto the floor. He involuntarily flung his hands up, both covered in oven mits; one held a smoking spatula, and the other onto a very burnt pancake. His wide, blue eyes gaped at Jill and the gun in her trembling hands. Slowly, his large frame relaxed.

“Jill?” he asked softly. “What’s going on?”

At that moment, the fire alarm went off.

Jill, distracted by the noise, lowered her gun and flicked her gaze around the ceiling. Chris swore again and ran towards the oven, which was the source of the smoke.

“Gotta clean this up, open a window or something before—” The sprinklers went off. Chris ended his statement in a groan. He could hear Jill do the same from behind him.

From over his broad shoulder, he peered back at her. “I wanted to make you breakfast,” he explained with the slightest note of embarrassment tinging his tone. He held up a shorching pan, blinking through the sprinklers. “As you can see, it didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped.”

Jill’s figure slumped, water trickling down her half-bare legs as she leaned against the entrance. She sighed. “Chris, I thought we were under attack.” Setting the gun on the kitchen table, she lifted the window pane to let the smoke out. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Sheepishly, Chris threw the remains of what was supposed to be pancakes into the trash. “Sorry, honey,” he murmured.

Jill ran a hand through her sopping hair, shaking her head and giving her husband a tired smile. “What am I ever going to do with you?” mused she.

Chris, returning her smile, plodded over to her and ran a hand down her arm. As he leaned down to her level, she tilted her head up to meet his lips with her own. Her hand traveled up his bicep, tickling his skin with her warmth as her arms found his shoulders and wrapped around his neck. He enveloped her frame in his grasp, deepening their kiss, remembering all the sleepless nights without her where he wished he could do this again. He never took her for granted.

“Help me clean the kitchen?” he asked through a breath in their kiss.

His wife pulled back, quirking an eyebrow. “What?”

Chris, folding his hands behind her hips, darted his eyes to the sprinklers still spouting water on them. “You asked what you’d ever do with me. Can you help me clean the kitchen?”

Rolling her eyes, Jill pulled her husband down for one last kiss before answering. “Of course.” She placed her hand over his chest, where beneath her pale and scarred fingertips she could feel his heartbeat. “Partners till the end, right?”

Chris chuckled, his voice reverberating beneath her touch. He lifted a hand, and carefully—tenderly—stroked the raw and warped skin where multiple, small, perfectly round scars lay. A remnant of her torture, a memory of his conviction, a testiment to their broken hearts. They were the only ones who could touch each other’s.

“Partners till the end,” Chris whispered, bowing his head in a nod.

And at that moment, the sprinklers shut off.

**Author's Note:**

> There is literally no point to this. I just had the idea that Chris would try and make pancakes for his wife after all the trauma she experienced in Resident Evil 5, and he fails miserably. But hey, his heart's in the right place.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it!


End file.
